Find Your Way Home
by clearskies01
Summary: Harry didn't make it in the end. Draco blames himself. A short story about forgiving yourself.


These characters and unfortunately not mine: they are the brilliant J.K. Rowlings

Let me know what you think. I actually wrote this one a loooong time ago, but am just now submitting it. It didn't even have a title until like 5 minutes ago. Hope you enjoy it!

Find Your Way Home

_Harry didn't make it in the end. Draco blames himself._

You wait for him to come to bed before you turn out the light in the evenings, but then you remember that he won't be joining you.

And you still smell him everywhere. Even normal things will remind you of him. Walking on the street hurts because of all the sights and sounds, each one a painful reminder.

He's everywhere. On your clothes, in your bed, at your house, he's outside when you walk at night. He clouds your thoughts even when you aren't thinking about him (which is very rare).

You wake up in the mornings, drenched in a cold sweat, and you remember your dreams. They are always the same. They are filled with death and despair, and you wake up in the middle of the night feeling hollow inside.

Your dreams are almost always about him. Or they are about how you could have saved him.

---

You moved a few months after he died. You had to get away from it all. You don't want him haunting you like that. You moved again. And again. You move every couple of years now. Nothing seems comfortable anymore. Now you live in an old neighborhood, one with small houses. You used to like a lot of space, but now that you live alone, you haven't the slightest idea what to do with it all.

You often lose your way when you try to go home. He was the one with a good sense of direction. Often you find yourself wandering the streets near your old house, accidentally on purpose passing it and remembering…

"_Draco, come look at this fantastic carpet I just bought!" Harry said from somewhere downstairs. You sighed and found a stopping place in your book. You went down the stairs one at a time, holding onto the handrail. You loved that house; the spiral staircase was your favorite. _

"_What am I looking at?" You asked as you entered the living room. Harry was adjusting a throw rug on the floor; he crossed the floor and moved it a little to the left. _

"_This rug! I found it at that flea market down on Brighton. You know that one?" Harry asked as he made his way over to you._

"_Oh yeah, that one. Been there for a while, hasn't it?" You asked._

"_Yeah, but the longer things are there, the cheaper they become!" Harry said. _

"_I suppose." You said as you looked down at the carpet. It was some abstract design, filled with greens and reds and blues. You nodded as approval._

"_Isn't it perfect?" Harry asked as he slid his hand around your waist. "I mean, it just __fits__, you know?"_

But the memories leave as quickly as they come, and you still have to find your way home in the end.

---

You wonder if other people can see him, if they think about him nearly as much as you do. You doubt it. He never loved anyone quite like he loved you.

---

You can stand it no longer. You decide to visit Hermione. She might be able to provide some closure. She was always a smart girl. You're convinced she survived the war because of that.

Finding her house is easy, she hasn't moved since you graduated. You used to go there all the time with him. You and her used to even be something others would call friends. You don't have friends though; you never needed them.

As you ring the bell, you look around her neighborhood. Like many of the houses nowadays, there is a green ribbon hanging in her window. You know what it stands for, and why it is that color. You own one yourself. You own twenty. They are all in a drawer in your dresser next to your bed. There is nothing else in there.

You pull your coat tighter when the wind whips around you, chilling you to the bone. You don't remember it ever being this cold before.

After a few minutes, you ring the bell again. Assuming she isn't home, you head back down the stone steps leading to the door. When you reach the sidewalk, you look both ways; you aren't sure which way to go. You don't need to be anywhere in particular and you don't have anything to do. As you start to turn right, you hear someone calling your name.

"Draco?" The voice croaks. Hermione had not aged as gracefully as you thought she would.

You nod before turning all the way around. You aren't sure whether this was the right decision. Then you realize that there is no right decision anymore.

You follow Hermione into her house, not really sure what you will do once you're inside. You never thought about what would happen if you actually saw her. She insists you take your coat off, and she hangs it in a closet as she hums cheerily to herself.

"I was just getting up from a nap. I was up so late last night celebrating I got sleepy again." She smiles weakly at you and walks into the kitchen. "Sit, please. I was going to make some tea. You want any?" She asks, taking a mug down from the cupboard.

You nod as you take your seat. You laugh silently to yourself because you remember that last night was New Year's Eve. You hadn't paid any attention to that.

It's a new year: nothing special, just another calendar to buy. You never seem to notice the passing of the years anymore. There is nothing in them for you. It's just another year with out him, another lonely year to wallow in your own, ever-present guilt.

But all the people you seem to talk to always assure you of the same thing: that it wasn't your fault; you had nothing to do with it. They wonder why you worry.

You worry because someone has to.

"My nice teapot is dirty, I'll have to use my spare one." Hermione sighs. She speaks to you as if no time has passed. She speaks to you like you didn't love and kill her best friend.

So maybe you didn't kill him with your own hands. Maybe you weren't even there when it happened. But it happened all the same, and that's the only thing that sticks in your mind.

"Oh wait, I got a beautiful one for Christmas. I think I'll use that one." You watch her shuffle out of the kitchen.

You look around the kitchen. It is filled with pictures of him and you and her and Ron and Ginny and Luna and everybody else that influenced her life. The majority of her photos are of him, and you wince as you try not to remember…

"_Potter! Hey, Potter, what do you think you're doing?" You asked as you trudged through the snow and walked up to Harry. It was the middle of January, and it was deathly cold out. The snow was low, so a few more people were out than normal. Harry was standing still with his arms open and his tongue sticking out. He looked ridiculous. "Potter, stop that, you look stupid. Well, stupider than normally do anyway." You said as you reached him._

"_Caun't." He mumbles. It sounded different because his tongue was still protruding from his mouth._

_You rolled your eyes and then asked him another question. "And why can't you?"_

_He moved one of his arms to wipe the excess snow off of his glasses, but he kept his tongue out. "'Cuth."_

_You watched him for a moment before you became impatient. "Harry, may I ask what you are doing?" _

_Harry finally stuck his tongue back in his mouth and put his arms down at his sides. He turned to you and smiled. _

"_One of the only times I had fun at my Aunt and Uncle's house was when it snowed and Dudley and I would catch snowflakes on our tongues. I always enjoyed doing it. So I'm doing it now." He says before he returned to his childhood activities._

_You sighed and looked around the lawn. No one you could see was watching.' What the hell?' you thought as you tilted your head back, extended your arms and stuck out your tongue. _

_---_

Hermione shuffles back into the kitchen, both hands cradling a dark blue teapot. You stand and offer help, but she forces you to sit back down, that you are a guest and still human.

"There we go." She says after a few minutes. The water is boiling away on the stove, and she waddles to the kitchen table and takes a seat next to you.

"Ginny gave that to me. She knew my old one was falling apart. This one is special or something. Some sort of gizmo that boils it faster and whatnot. It involves reading a tiny booklet that I already lost." She sighs.

You smile, though you aren't sure why. All your smiles now are forced, and they are normally for the other party's sake.

"So to what do I owe this pleasure?" She asks as a loud whistle fills the kitchen. She gets up and moves over to the stove, where the water has already boiled. She grabs two mugs, one with a winter landscape and the other wishing a merry Christmas. She then reaches into a cabinet and comes out with a couple of tea bags. "It's been what? Twenty? Twenty-five years?"

You can't believe it's been that long. It still feels like yesterday to you. Harry has been dead longer than he was alive. It's a haunting thought.

"Oh, nothing really. I was just in the neighborhood." You lie as you come to your senses. You've gotten so good at lying these past years no one really notices anymore.

"I haven't seen you in so long, and you just show up one day because you're 'in the area'?" She asks as she raises her eyebrows. You could hardly ever get anything past her.

"I was-I just-" You start. "I really miss Harry." You state simply because you haven't built up your nerve to say what you really want to say.

"We all do." Hermione says as she puts her landscape mug to her lips. "You sure it's just that?"

No, it's not just that. Though you're pretty sure you miss him more than anyone else. You miss him with every fiber of your being. You miss the way he talked, the way he smelled, the way he laughed. The way he knew what you were thinking before anyone else did. The way he was around you, the way he treated you. He knew who you really were. He knew you weren't just Lucius's son.

But you feel bad for missing him. You feel guilty, knowing you sentenced him to his early death.

Hermione shuffles over to the counter to grab a tin of biscuits. On her way over there, you gather nerve.

"It's my fault he died."

Hermione stops dead in her tracks.

"Excuse me?" She asks as she turns around.

"I killed him. I let him die." You confess. It's easier than you thought.

"What are you talking about?"

"I've been trying to get this off my chest for years. I'm so glad I finally did." You sigh in relief.

"What makes you think you killed Harry?" Hermione asks as she sits down next to you. "Didn't Voldemort kidnap you and use you as bait to bring Harry closer to him? In what way did you kill him?"

"I let the world know that I loved Harry. Voldemort found out and used it against him. We knew the dangers of our relationship, but we never thought…" you trail off.

"You didn't kill him! Voldemort killed him!" She says.

"…it was a smart idea, Voldemort knew that Harry never put himself before others. Voldemort knew Harry would do anything for the people he loved. I should have seen it coming. It's just all my fault." You are on the verge of tears. So many feelings that you hid for so long come to the surface all at once.

"It's not fair!" You stand up and shout, not caring that you startle Hermione.

"Draco! It's not fair, I know! But you didn't kill him!" Hermione tries to comfort you.

"Voldemort used the spell, but Harry wouldn't have gone if I wasn't there. I killed him."

"You didn't kill him! You did nothing of the sort!" Hermione practically shouts. "I can't believe you told yourself that!"

"Harry didn't get to see Voldemort destroyed for good. He didn't get to see the thousands mourning for him, he didn't see the memorial built for him; he didn't see any of it. And it's my fault!"

"It's not your fault! You couldn't help it that Voldemort used you as bait! You had no control over the situation! Stop telling yourself that Harry died because he loved you! Loving you isn't a crime! It's not a downfall. He sacrificed himself for you and the future of our kind!"

"He shouldn't have killed himself for me." You say.

"Get over it! He knew you were there, and he knew what he was doing! Don't mope around because he's dead; celebrate because we no longer live in fear!"

"I-" you start, but Hermione won't have it.

"You didn't know he could come back! We hadn't expected him to rise a third time! IT WASN'T YOUR FAULT!" Hermione bellows. "You cared about him as much as we did. You tried to save him, but you couldn't. You did everything humanly possible, and you still won't forgive yourself. Harry's gone, but it doesn't have to be a sad thing, Draco. It can be something you remember in a good light."

"He left me. He went away from this world and left me behind." You say before you can stop yourself. You suddenly feel very guilty for your pains of loneliness.

"Draco," Hermione starts, ignoring your arrogant comment, "he didn't really leave us. He physically may be gone, but he lives on in you and me and everyone else he loved. We are reminded of him every day. Death is another adventure for him, and he'll travel it until you join him. "

"You know He loved you. He saved you. He saved us all." Hermione says as she places her hand on your arm.

You haven't been touched in so long. He was the last person to touch you. You've bumped into people on the street of course, but it's been forever since someone touched you out of love.

And suddenly you understand. You feel silly for being angry he left and for blaming yourself for making him go.

---

You embrace Hermione in thanks and promise afternoon visits with tea later in the week. You look at all the pictures of him as Hermione grabs your coat. You come across one you don't remember being taken. It is of you and Harry. It was taken in Hermione's house, and by the lack of age lines on your face; it seems to have been taken sometime before the war. You and Harry are sitting side by side on Hermione's couch, and as you wave vigorously at the camera (you might have had a little to drink), Harry is gazing longingly at you. The picture you stops waving, turns to Harry, and returns the gaze.

Somehow you tear your eyes away from the picture when you hear Hermione coming with your coat. She sees the photograph in your hands, and looks into your eyes. Her brown ones, always so forgiving, tell you silently that you can keep it, frame and all.

"Thank you." You manage a whisper as your eyes tear up. None fall, and you embrace her again.

She stands smiling in her doorway as you walk down her snow-covered driveway. You tucked the picture into your coat pocket and can feel the smooth glass against your palm. You've decided to go home and pick out a green ribbon and hang it proudly in your window. He deserves that much.

It is getting dark, but you really don't mind, you've got your memories to keep you company.

And tonight for some reason, home is easier to find.

END


End file.
